


oh, sweet memory

by RoseateGales



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age: Inquisition - Jaws of Hakkon DLC, F/M, Mild Angst, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition - Jaws of Hakkon DLC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-25 20:35:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19753345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseateGales/pseuds/RoseateGales
Summary: Selfishly, Eludysia steers her thoughts towards the present and unknowns of the future. Towards her Inquisition and the actions taken in its name. She wonders, when 800 years are come and gone again, how likely history would remember the Inquisition as it is.-a brief study into my lavellan's thoughts after the events of the jaws of hakkon. mild solavellan angst.





	oh, sweet memory

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: 1/10/2019: so. i wrote this fic and _let your love be_ several months ago, when i just finished the game and was super excited and i had to write because what else would i do with a grieving heart over this awesome and terrible ship y’know. however, the result of that and my subsequent obsession with this game series meant that i would further develop the lavellan in this fic, to the point that she is quite different from what you’re reading in these two first fics for her. the essence of her character is there, but she is different. i may rewrite these two fics to reflect that one day, but for now, please bear that in mind when reading.

Night spreads across the Frostback Basin, lulling the land’s sounds to rest and quieting its vibrant colours, with sleep well on its way to touch its inhabitants. It won’t be long until the day fades from the minds of people and becomes replaced by dreams. Perhaps an hour. Perhaps two. But for now, celebrations occur and continue all along verdant fields and sweeping mountaintops, roaring in contrast to their surroundings, to keep memories awake as well as the eyes that behold them.

Off in the distance, Eludysia can hear the camp doing just that. A pyre sparks like a jewel in the dark, laughter rising thick as smoke in the air. She can hear Bull giving a toast for the dragon slayed. His “ANAAAAAN!” is the loudest among a dozen voices, even Sera’s and Dorian’s. And as the cheers descend into conversation, the three are quick to trade light-hearted, drunken insults and boasts after, as they often do. She thinks she can make out Scout Harding’s awkward murmuring jokes joining, too.

Temptation wants to lead the Inquisitor to them. But she turns her face to the wind and gazes up at the stars, settling her back against the trunk of a tree, a breath held from the past few days finally leaving her lips. Her mind wanders to the ruins found and the wisps of life cradled within them. The old Hakkonites, Hakkon himself. Ameriden and his love, Telena. The companions Haron and Orinna, who followed the former Inquisitor to certain death. Who they all were in form and in spirit, erased by politics, forgotten by time and history, before sudden rediscovery. 

She repeats their names and tells herself, “Commit them to memory. Do not forget who they were and what they did. Do not forget that Ameriden was Dalish and a friend to King Drakon. Do not forget his sacrifice. Remember the truth.” 

Whether it’s a prayer to herself or to Thedas, she does not know. Both, maybe. To ease the fear that still clings to her, and the gnawing disgust she feels towards herself, for the truth that she erased. Justinia’s sacrifice in pushing her out of the Fade, rewritten to be the hand of Andraste and never to be known.

_“They will be terrified. Let them have their stories,”_ she’d been told. And so, she allowed only stories to grow.

Selfishly, Eludysia steers her thoughts towards the present and unknowns of the future. Towards her Inquisition and the actions taken in its name. She wonders, when 800 years are come and gone again, how likely history would remember the Inquisition as it is. With a Dalish mage as its leader, called also the Herald of Andraste, who carries a mark that once scarred and healed the sky? What would it make of her deeds, good and bad? Or her advisors’? Or the people who fought and bled by her side?

And then, she wonders about him. How could she not? Telena was forgotten. So was her kindness and love. All because she was an elf. One who practiced magic, besides. How much would history want to remember of another elven mage? Even though he risked his life and kept hers, and thus the world’s, safe? 

_ “I am an apostate surrounded by Chantry forces, and unlike you, I do not have a divine mark protecting me.” _

His words are as clear as the sky, even under a new prism. A bitter laugh escapes her and she shakes her head. _How right you were, Solas._

A light finger traces the smooth skin of her chin, where Ghilan’nain’s vallaslin used to be. It’s strange, how months have passed and she has yet to be accustomed to the absence of the markings-- and to the hollowed space that he had left in her chest. Though he had vanished from sight, his presence still lingered like her shadow, Crestwood and their could have beens hanging overhead as questions without answers. If she simply shut her eyes, she could still see him, hear him, imagine the things he might say. But all that she has now, is memory.

“I will not forget. Nor will I let them.”


End file.
